


The Oval Office

by orphan_account



Category: Political RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 17:01:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8900509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Donald Trump is in love with Vladimir Putin, but Putin just likes having a good boy.





	

Vladimir had been waiting all day. Outside, the snow fell in thick sheaves, blanketing the Rose Garden in white, which was a colour that Donald liked quite a lot. The small flurry of activity at the entrance of the room bored him. A perfunctory assembling of small men, no doubt, clamoring for a moment of his Donald's time. Vladimir bristled. He was not a patient man. It was one of Donald's glaring flaws, Vladimir thought, his desperate need to be worshipped by mediocrity.

Finally, the room emptied, leaving the new American President standing alone in front of the large hardwood desk. Putin leaned back in the gilded chair behind it, a scowl on his face. "I'm sorry, Vlad -" Donald began. "-I didn't think that trade agreements took so long."

"Do you know what this desk is, Donald?" Putin asked.  
"It's my desk, " Trump responded, petulantly.  
"It is the _Resolute_ desk. A desk used by many presidents, made from the timbers of a British ship. A gesture of peace between two countries."  
"Uh huh," Trump muttered, clearly disinterested.  
Putin sighed. "You are dull, my boy. Come, let us put the ass in _Resolute_."  
"There is no ass in _Resolute_ , Vlad."  
"Did I say you could speak, Donald?" Putin snapped, as Trump fell silent. "Now, come to me. If you are good, you may lick my cum off this historic furniture later."

Trump quietly made his way to Putin, who was now standing by the large windows, his eyes fixed on the colonnade.

"Are you - are you disappointed with me, Vlad?" Trump whispered, sounding like a child. A small hand investigated the possibility of touching Putin, but recoiled at the other man's stiff posture.

Putin scowled. "You have no class and you are terribly dim." Then he smiled, seeing Trump's face fall like a scolded puppy. "But, you are the leader of the free world. I like that about you, Donald." Putin couldn't help but delight in the childish glee that enraptured Donald's face with only the barest of compliments from him.

Vladimir wrapped his hand around Donald's too-long tie, pulling him closer.

"I want to make you happy, Vlad." Donald begged.  
"You can." Putin answered, roughly shoving Trump to his knees.

Trump clumsily undid Putin's tailored wool trousers, which always had too many buttons. He was told that it was in the Italian style, to keep the pants crisp and formal, but he was a simple man, who had no time for fashion. He sighed, as Putin's strong fingers closed in his hair. Putin was a careful lover, who once asked him if hair plugs could be tugged on before he pulled too hard. It was the sweet gestures, hidden under Vladimir's cold and genocidal exterior, that had made Trump fall hard for the Russian ruler.

Trump leaned back on his heels, accepting Putin's cock being roughly shoved in his mouth, probing his tonsils. He tried to keep up, slathering his tongue across Vladimir's manhood as the large cock continued to plunder his throat, accompanied by the swinging Russian balls bouncing off his pillowy chin. Suddenly, Putin pulled out, leaving Trump with a hollow and unfilled hunger for thick kolbasa.

"Please, Vlad." Trump whimpered. "Don't stop."  
"I want to fuck you." Putin demanded.

Trump immediately unbuttoned his own pants, quickly bending over the desk, and presenting his wide, doughy behind to Putin.

"I want to fuck you hard, Donald. As hard as I fuck Chechnya." Putin moaned.  
"Chechnya! Is there someone else, Vlad?"  
Putin sighed, spitting into his own hand. "Is difficult to keep my dick up in the face of your illiteracy on world affairs. But, I have always wanted to fuck American President while gazing with love at neoclassical painting of George Washington."

Putin smeared Trump's asshole with his saliva, before dipping in an exploratory finger. "It will hurt, Donald."  
"I can take it." Trump insisted.  
"Oh, I know you will."  
"You swallow my geopolitical strategy, my fat cock will be no problem." Putin said, shoving his dick into Trump's waiting asshole, driving in mercilessly and letting his hipbones be cushioned by Donald's expansive back rolls.

It was cold outside, but inside the Oval Office, the two men sweated together as Putin rode Trump like a stallion, bareback. He spread Trump's cheeks open, shoving at the limpid flesh to drive his cock in deeper.

"Yes, Vlad! Plunder me like Syria!" Trump yelped.

Startled and remarkably turned on at Donald's knowledge of at least one current world event, Putin pulled out, shooting a stream of warm ryazhenka that splattered inelegantly on Trump's back, traveling down the canyons of the pale rolling landscapes of his vast skin.

"Good boy." Putin said, walking away. Exhausted, and splayed across the _Resolute_ desk like a sacrificial cow, Trump could hear Vladimir cleaning himself up in the private bathroom. Vladimir was a selfish lover, who often left him hard and unfulfilled after their trysts. Still, this was the man he loved, this arrogant, dominant Russian President who could have any woman he wanted, but found himself landing at the White House helipad much more frequently than political machinations would require. That had to mean something, right? Only Trump knew about Putin's gentler moments, when he would say things like "Donald, my precious oligarch." He treasured them dearly.

He tried not to feel hurt when Putin tossed him a damp towel, without even an invitation to cuddle.

"Vlad, do you want to stay tonight?" Trump asked, hesitantly. Only Putin could reject him in a way that would hurt for days afterwards.

"My darling Donald. I have to be at the Kremlin tonight."

"You always have to be at the Kremlin." Donald pouted.

Putin sidled over to Trump's side, kissing the American president on the forehead. "Sweet Donald. Some presidents have to do their jobs." Still, he let Trump hold on to him for a little bit longer than necessary. He could allow a little more affection today, especially with an impending arms treaty on the table.

It was cold at the helipad as well, but as Putin climbed into the transport that would deliver him to his next destination, he smiled. He would be back for his American boy, he promised. Next time, he wanted to see if he could cum on the bronze bust of Abraham Lincoln.


End file.
